Alone
by DarkAngel0410
Summary: Punk can't sleep. Slash.


**Story Title:** Alone

**Story Type: **Slash

**Characters: **CM Punk, mentions of Colt Cabana and Ace Steele

**Pairings: **Punk/Colt

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, really. He belongs to himself and Vince.

**Warnings: **Slash, angst

**A/N: **I figured out what my muses were up to: they smuggled in a CM Punk muse, and I am not fucken pleased. Really, you fuckers, I don't need this. I already have enough god damn noise in my freakin' head. It's getting insane. And he's already demanding his own stories and he wants in on 'Mine'. I don't know what the fuck they were thinking. I mean, the Straight Edge Superstar, around here? Really? Really, really? Muses, I swear, the first time he starts lecturing me, I'm shoving him in a closet. If I want to listen to someone tell me how much I'm ruining my life, I can go hang out at my mother's. In an amusing side note, I told my oldest daughter that I hated Punkers and she told me that she liked him. I was a little surprised, to be honest. I mean, Kaitie's the wrestling mark, not Marissa. So, I asked her why. And her exact words, I swear, were 'He keeps hitting John Cena'. Lmfao. Anyways, here's Punkers first story. It's not my usual type of story, but I don't think it came out too bad.

**A/N2: **Just for the record, I dunno anything about Punkers family; I'm sure they're actually very nice people. And if they're not, then fuck 'em; he's done very well for himself without their help. I think, and I stress the word _think_, I heard in an interview somewhere that Punkers said one of the reasons he was straight edge was because his father was a drunk, and he couldn't remember a time when he -his father- wasn't drinking. That's part of where this came from; and, once again, I don't know his family, at all.

He sat on another balcony in another hotel in another city, his ever present can of Pepsi in his hand.

He had been alone for as long as he could remember; even when he was little he had been an outcast. No one ever wanted to hang out with the kid whose parents were always drunk, who were always strung out on something.

And honestly, he never wanted to bring anyone home; he never knew if there would be food in the house or even if the house would be clean. Hell, he didn't know day to day if there was going to be heat or electricity. Once he had turned eighteen, he had left without looking back.

He had stayed in Chicago; he sometimes thought that the only good thing his parents ever gave him was the city where he was born. He loved it, all of it; more then he had loved any boyfriend. And definitely more then most people he knew.

Of course, he didn't have many friends. Colt and Ace were the only people he ever actually relaxed around. And out of them, Colt was the only person he had ever let all his walls down around. When they had first run into each other at the Dominion, they had bonded almost instantly.

He had been wary of the chubby Jewish kid, but then, he was wary of everyone. Life had taught him early and often that expecting the kick to the teeth -whether metaphorical or literal- made it easier to take when it finally landed.

But Colt had been relentless, in that cheerful way he tackled everything with. Before he knew it, he was hanging out with him after training, splitting a pizza and groaning over the way Ace had kicked them around that day. Colt was his first real friend and now he was closer to Colt then he had ever been to his family. Colt was his brother in all the ways that mattered. Their bond had been forged in sweat and blood and hard work, in dreams and reality. Colt was still the only person who had never let him down and, after all these years, he knew Colt never would.

Despite everything that had happened -and the fuck up with WWE was one of the few things that could send him into an actual rage if he thought about it for too long- Colt was still the same person he had been all those years ago; maybe a little wiser, but he was still the same cheerful Jewish kid who had steamrolled over him until he had given in and just gone along with him.

There were days when he was sure Colt had saved him all those years ago and there were still other days when the only thing that kept him even in the WWE was the look he knew would be on Colt's face if he showed up in Chicago and announced that he quit because Vince was a moron.

Yeah, Colt was his family, his friend, his everything all wrapped up in one.

He took a sip of the Pepsi, looking over the skyline of whatever city they were performing in this week. It was dark out; about one. It would be a little longer before he could even attempt to sleep. He toyed with idea of calling Colt; the older man was no stranger to late night calls when his insomnia was especially bad.

He finished his soda and stood up. After looking over the city, he turned to go in the room; the boy who had been Phil Brooks and the man who was CM Punk.

He was still alone, but that was alright. He was alone now but once he got to Chicago he would be with Colt, and that was enough for him.


End file.
